


timeline

by orphan_account



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: (though neither of our boys), Light Angst, M/M, Symmetry, brief mention of drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9997553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Todd is fifteen, and he is smoking his first cigarette. It’s awful, and he’s been hacking up the acrid smoke from his lungs for the past three minutes, but he’s smoked it nonetheless. The burning throat is unpleasant, but the feeling of rebellion swirling in his stomach makes it all worthwhile.Svlad is fifteen, and he’s tired. He no longer cries himself to sleep at night. He is no longer sad, or scared. He’s just flat-out tired.-Everyone has their own timeline, but some are more similar than others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of ~art~, Todd and Dirk at the same ages, and I have briefly fudged the timing between Dirk leaving Blackwing and meeting Todd.
> 
> Warning: this fic contains a lot of commas.

Todd is fifteen, and he is smoking his first cigarette. It’s awful, and he’s been hacking up the acrid smoke from his lungs for the past three minutes, but he’s smoked it nonetheless. The burning throat is unpleasant, but the feeling of rebellion swirling in his stomach makes it all worthwhile.

Rob from the grade above him smirks unkindly, but pats him on the back. “You alright, squirt?”

“Don’t call me that,” Todd grumbles, but he can’t be too annoyed – at least he’s here. He’s had a crush on the other boy since sixth grade, but so has every girl in Todd’s class, and usually, that’s where Rob’s attention lies. Not today. Today he looks at Todd, laughs with (at) Todd, sneaks Todd cigarettes and claps him on the back when he coughs hard enough to puke. It’s strange; the Todd of sixth grade wouldn’t dare dream of skipping Physics to smoke behind the bike-sheds with Rob Bristol, but the Todd of ninth grade does it without a care.

Rob rolls his eyes. “You’ve coughed the flame out, dumbass.”

It stings, but Todd won’t let it show. “Fine. Light it again.”

“You’ll only choke again.” Rob’s tone is goading, and Todd feels the undeniable pull to please this boy. He just wants to fit in.

“No, I won’t.” Todd rolls his own eyes now, a mimic of the other. “Light it, you’ll see. If I don’t cough this time, you can’t call me squirt again.”

This interests Rob. The taller boy takes out the lighter again. “Alright. But if you do cough, you’re squirt forever.”

Todd huffs. He takes a drag. It burns and burns, and it’s all he can do to not splutter like a clapped-out car engine, but he does it, exhaling slow and proud.

Rob laughs. “Nice job… For a little guy.”

Todd feels himself start to cry, and turns away as hot tears drip onto his cheek. Rob doesn’t see – a small mercy – but leaves anyway, and Todd feels endlessly alone.

-

Svlad is fifteen, and he’s tired. He no longer cries himself to sleep at night. He is no longer sad, or scared. He’s just flat-out tired.

“What’s on the card, Svlad? Just tell us what’s on the card, and you can go back to your room.”

Said card lies face down on the table in front of them. Svlad eyes it with contempt. Previous rounds of this “game” have gone without issue, and Svlad hates himself for metaphorically rolling over at their every command. He is not yet wise enough to forgive his childish self, too trapped in his adolescence to let go of the blame and accept he was not at fault. Inside, he rages. He’s so tired.

“I’d rather not.”

“Tell me what’s on the card, Svlad.” Firmer now. More threatening. Nausea and dread return, achingly familiar, and Svlad wants to cry.

He doesn’t cry.

“No.”

A jolt of electricity runs through his body. His muscles spasm, contracting and releasing with concerning speed. Svlad grits his teeth, and swallows back a cry. It burns and it burns, and it’s all he can do not to burst into tears and yell out _“A ROBOT!”_ but he does it, exhaling slowly and proudly. He stays silent.

The shocks stop. The lab tech rips the electrodes from his skin with resounding frustration and a promise to return, and then there is peace.

He lets himself cry. Is this forever? It’s a lonely forever, if so. He wonders if anyone out there feels like him right now, or if the universe is isolating him so cruelly as a trick.

-

Todd is twenty-one, and he’s free (from what?)

The con is easy now. Call mom, put on that voice – the wavering one, with a crack on the ‘o’ - maybe cry a little. Tell her you thought it was getting better and pretend not to hear the sorrow in her voice as she says “Oh, honey…” and mentally calculates how much money she can afford to send.

At first, the guilt was insufferable. Now? Not so much. Now, he feels hardly anything at all.

Todd hangs up the phone, but not before hearing his mother start to sob when she thinks he’s already gone. The guilt is only temporary. He wonders who he has become.

He has become Todd – expert conman and poor ailing son all at once. He is no longer squirt, he is no longer ‘little guy’ – they’re as dead as Rob, two months cold today from an overdose of whatever it is Todd turned down the last time they fucked.

Todd sits on the couch, and pretends not to notice the pizza boxes and beer cans. He is hit by his total isolation anyway. He sighs, and takes a sip of beer. He’s getting used to being alone.

-

Dirk is twenty-one, and he is free (in theory).

He can’t take off his shirt in front of the shitty broken mirror in his bedsit flat, because it sits on his chest – a brand, like he’s cattle, an animal with little worth. It hurts his eyes to look, because Dirk can see nothing but a label, a terrible reminder of a world he will never return to. He wants to claw it off, wants to see the new skin grow over, clean and clear and his.

Dirk goes to the first place he can find, and beg the tattoo artist with tears in his eyes to cover it with something, _anything_ to take him away from that life. When he tells her he has no money to pay, she sucks in a breath, and pauses. The woman pities him – that much is clear – and she makes him a deal; she’ll cover it for free if he’ll tell her his story.

Dirk lies, and at first, he feels guilty as sin, but the lilies over his heart more than makes up for it. She tells him it’s going to hurt, that it’s okay to scream, but it’s nothing in comparison to electrotherapy sessions with Dr. Telford, and he stays silent. She tells him he’s impressive, and writes down her number on the receipt she hands over at the end.

Dirk throws it away the second he leaves the shop. The guilt is only temporary. He wonders what he’s become.

He has become Dirk – tattooed rebel with the heart of a mouse. He is no longer Icarus, no longer Svlad - they are gone; dead and buried and burning.

Dirk returns to his little flat, and takes off his shirt as soon as he’s home. He sits in front of the mirror and stares and stares at the new ink, skin red raw and bleeding just a little. He hears the neighbours yelling, and can’t help but feel jealous; at least they’ve someone to argue with.

-

Todd is thirty-four, and he hates himself.

Dirk is thirty-four, and he loves Todd anyway.

They’re lying half-nude under sheets and listening to the rain, when Todd asks for the story behind the tattoo, and Dirk responds with a question, like he always does when faced with difficult subjects.

“Did you ever have a past you hated?”

It’s a stupid question; Dirk _knows_ he does, Dirk _knows_ about the lies (not smoking, not Rob, not making his mom cry once a goddamn week).

“Yeah. I couldn’t cover mine with flowers.”

Dirk considers this. “Maybe that makes you braver.”

Todd scoffs. “Yeah. Sure. I’m so brave.” Tears prick at his eyes and he turns away, away from Dirk’s asking expression and endless, unconditional adoration.

Dirk hugs him close anyway, and presses a soft kiss to his hair.

It burns – not like the cigarette, but different. Better, but just as painful. He wishes Dirk didn’t love so easily but is endlessly glad that he does. This love is new, and Todd doesn’t quite believe it yet. He wants to, though, which is also new.

As Dirk’s breathing levels out, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck, Todd lets his eyes close. He is starting to realise it’s okay to have someone by your side.

-

Dirk is thirty-nine, and he no longer feels like he’s hurtling alone through the universe. The hurtling is the same – it always will be, really – but the company is new. Ish. It’s six years now, so sort of old news, but Dirk still feels the same intense joy when he looks at Todd now as he did when hearing the words _“He’s your best friend”_ for the first time.

The metal band on his finger feels odd, constricting almost, but in the best way possible. He traces it with his thumb, and can’t repress a smile.

Warm hands find their way around his waist, calloused fingers slipping into his pockets mischievously. Todd kisses the nape of his neck – he must be on tiptoes, Dirk thinks, and represses a laugh – and murmurs; “Come back to bed.”

Dirk nods, and moves to do just that, turning away from the window and chastising the cat half-heartedly for jumping into his place in bed. She mewls and Todd laughs, slipping into his own side of the bed and pulling a face. “It’s cold in here alone.”

Dirk chuckles, joining the other with ease. They’re not alone; the timelines have merged. They’re hurtling together. He can’t imagine anything better.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, you can see more from me on my [tumblr](http://hippocampers.tumblr.com). I thoroughly enjoy shouting about my favourite holistic sweethearts.
> 
> Your feedback brings me great joy. Love to all <3


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